


Still the dance goes on...

by orphan_account



Category: Next to Normal - Kitt/Yorkey
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Gen, Mental Health Issues, basically do you know the play? this is an extension, someday Henry will have a last name... That day is not today
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:19:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles and headcanons about the lives of the Goodman family and Henry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Natalie - Love

She's not ever sure if she understands love. Devotion, yes. That she knows from countless days spent alternating between her dad and Henry, giving endless support to one and receiving that in turn from the other. But love? No, that is altogether a different beast. The love she knows of is parents staying together, fighting to keep an illusion of a happy family and a mirage of what once was alive. Love is screaming and smashing things and tired pleading in the middle of the night while she listens to Beethoven again and again to help stop the tears.

According to everyone else, this is not love.

She looks at books, movies, any type of culture that might make her understand and confirm her greatest fear and scariest hope that she is truly "In Love" with Henry. Of course, this is Natalie, so her examples are probably not the best. She skips Romeo and Juliet - while she loves the classics and iambic pentameter, she's never been fond of the story where a thirteen year old falls in love with a twenty year old. It's just creepy. Not to mention the subsequent double suicide path that she really hopes they won't follow. Fighting and sorrow seem to be common themes in all love stories though, despite how much everyone talks about love being this all powerful, all positive force which instantly turns the world to happiness and makes Everything RightTM.

She hesitates around the words that Henry spoils her with. He says them again and again as he peppers her skin with kisses. Her breath hitches and she can feel tears welling up and spilling over into her cheeks and then he's kissing her tears away, still whispering the words that are twisting knives into her stomach. He holds her through her sobs, even when she's telling him "Don't be such a girl Henry," and "We've only dated a year" and other weak protests that she knows doesn't measure up to whatever it is Henry feels for her.

She ends up praying for the first time in over a decade. She prays and prays that she can do this right; that they won't end up as fucked as her family. She prays that one day she'll feel the same as him and just know without a doubt what she's feeling.

They never fight about it. Henry's too much of a good guy, too determined and willing to give in all at once as he never pushes her to return his feelings. He just stays, steadfast and true, by her side as the years go by. It's annoying and overwhelming and so damn comforting that she wants to scream sometimes. And then she does, as she recognizes this reaction. It's Mom's reaction to Dad, for all those years he tried, and Natalie can't breathe, oh God, she's already turning into her mom after all the times she swore she wouldn't and they are so fucked and Henry deserves so much better and-

And Henry slides their pipe over to her and squeezes her hand.

"You want anything special for dinner?" He asks as she lights it and takes a drag. It burns so nicely in her lungs as she shakes her head.

"I'll probably just get the munchies." She mumbles after she breathes out. It’s medical, she tells herself.  Lots of people use weed to cope with anxiety. It’s natural and probably better than the pills she used to rely on.

\---

Despite the fact that she still never says the words, Henry still proposes to her. It’s fucking weird. But honestly, she can’t really picture herself even dating anyone else, let alone sharing a life with anyone else.

The proposal itself is perfect in its own odd way. She’s at Yale, even after all the shit went down during high school. It’s a week until she graduates with a bachelor’s in music. She’s just finished a recital with absolutely no mistakes, a fact that’s become a matter of pride for her. Henry’s on his way backstage to pick her up and she feels such peace and joy flow through her as people congratulate her. Suddenly there are hands covering her eyes.

“Hey there, stranger.” He mutters in her ear, god her must be almost bent in half, she thinks. He’d hit yet another growth spurt during her time here, to her slight annoyance (his voice got even deeper too, which she’s definitely not annoyed about). “Guess who.” He giggles.

“Hmmm, must be some handsome stranger.” She plays along, causing him to chuckle. “I should let you know that my boyfriend’s on his way to get me.”

“Yeah? Must be a great guy to be able to get someone as amazing as you.” He muses and makes her blush inside.

“Nah, he’s kind of a girl.” She says easily.

He pinches her side as he turns her around. “And here I was about to ask you to marry me.”

Wait-

“What?” He’s never joked about that before. They’ve actually never even spoke about marriage.

“Marry me.” He says as he slides down onto a knee, a small box in his hand.

She runs.

Later that night, after she processes everything, and Henry's come home quiet and sad, she apologizes and says yes. She's still terrified that she'll end up like Diana, but she's willing to try. For him. For them. For her own happiness.

\---

On the day of the wedding, she's finally able to say 'I love you' and his smile makes all the fear vanish.


	2. Diana - Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is always cold now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for Diana. I could expand upon that, but that honestly sums it up quite nicely.

She hears him crying at night, wailing in his crib. No, that's not right, she realizes as she finds herself staring into his room. The screaming of a hungry baby continues from elsewhere and she remembers why the world is cold.

The world is always cold now.

She bundles herself in a sweater when they're at the Grand Canyon, not even caring that people are staring at her. She's been to Hell, god damn it, and the world is so cold compared to it.

She holds Natalie's lukewarm hand in her left and holds back the tears as she feels a warmer hand slip into her right hand. It's not Dan, who is fiddling with the camera. She greets her son in her mind, a small thank you passing through as she feels warm enough to finally smile again.

 

She ponders how her husband ever made her feel warm as he thrusts into her. The chill around them should make it his dick small and flaccid, yet it's pounding into her, feeling like an icicle all the while.

 

She doesn’t mean to let the house burn. Really. It is an accident. She had just been thinking about how the red door of their house deserved to feel the warmth it claimed to have. She is so tired of being cold.

She feels a warm hand in hers, and looks down to see her son staring up at her hesitantly. He’s 7 years old now, and he’s still the light of her life. He acts up sometimes, but the warmth of his smile is scalding, his touch is like a hot shower (it burns, but it soothes), and his voice kindles a fire in her. He’s the warmest thing in the world.

“You cold, my angel?” She coos at him. He scowls at her tone, his expression yelling ‘I’m not a baby, mom’ (oh but he is forever her baby, literally) but he nods.

“It’s always so cold, mom.” He whispers. He knows her better than anyone else, and she knows that he can tell what she is thinking. “I want to be warm but…” He pauses, squirms. “But mom…”

She kneels down and holds him. The air is dizzying, suffocating. It feels warm, she thinks with an internal laugh. “But what, sweetheart?”

“Mom, the house is on fire.”

 _Oh_ , she thinks as she sees the fire in the kitchen spreading, coming to her. _Oh, death is so warm._

Later on, after the fire, Dan pulls her into his arms and she gasps as she’s frozen.

The world is cold again.

 

Her blood is so warm, she discovers as she slices into her skin. Gabe is holding her head as she slumps to the ground. He strokes her hair as she gasps. Perhaps the world had never been cold, perhaps she had always been burning up with the heat of the sun on the inside.

 

When she wakes up from the ECT, she feels herself shudder because of the chill. Something is wrong. She doesn't know what it is until she confronts Dr. Madden and feels a warm hand slip into hers.

 

Years later, she walks out of her parents' house to check the mail and the sunlight is warm on her face. She smiles.


	3. Gabriel - Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not actually alive, despite playing at it nearly every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incest warning because Gabe is weird and this musical is weird.  
> Also, child death mention. You know, because he's dead.

No matter how much he taunts and haunts his family, he knows he’s not actually alive. And in those instances when he’s gone from all of their thoughts (it’s a very rare occurrence), he disappears into the void and watches as life passes on and wonders what he’d be doing if he was alive.

Perhaps he’d be in class like Natalie, playing the good son to his parents. At night he’d sneak out, find a girl with short blonde hair and lose himself in her with gentle slowness. Or perhaps a man, with dark hair, rough hands, and teasing words.

He likes to pretend he doesn’t have a thing for his parents. To be fair, it’s that or Natalie or nothing. Honestly, he doesn’t even know if these feelings are actually his, or just projections from the world his family dragged him back into just hours after he died.

He imagines himself becoming a lawyer. He’s persuasive enough. He knows how to twist reality, shape it to his will, and make others agree. He would be ridiculously rich, and would party so hard just to maintain the high of being alive.

Or maybe he’d want a quiet life.

He could be a kind man, the gentleman his mom always pictures him as when she listens to his music box. He could be a singer, or a dancer, softly seducing the world as he settles himself into a comfortable living. He wouldn’t be rich, but he would be happy. He would be loved. He could take the love his mother poured into him and share with the world. He could live by the love of the world. It would fill him up; make him dizzy with how real it all feels.

Instead though, he is reduced to caricatures of stereotypes. His moments among the living are split between the spiteful ghost, the oedipal son, and the mocking symbolism of a brother. He knows he’s simply a projection. He’s not actually alive, despite playing at it nearly every day. He’s a shadow of what he could have been, should have been.  It doesn’t hurt (how can it? He barely knew what emotions were when he died), but the nothingness fills him up like the block in his intestines, and he gets the instinctual urge to fight against it, to cling to life like he’s still actually breathing.

What a joke.


End file.
